Black (hearted) Friday 2008

I was in a state of depression all day yesterday. It began when I flipped on my favorite morning news site and was slapped in the face with the two inch redline proclaiming the death by stampeding of an innocent WalMart employee. Greed kills...again.

What have we become?

Happy Thanksgiving, BBB

No, that's not the Better Business Bureau. It's my friend Patty somewhere in the heartland, to whom I affectionately refer as Bread Basket Brat. We met each other on Thanksgiving weekend, 1998--two Christians in an AOL pagan chat room trying to demonstrate the love of Christ to some very confused young people. We started IM-ing and emailing back and forth--we belonged to a virtual pen pal group long before the days of blogs and social networking sites--and then exchanged real, 3-D letters and phone calls. BBB and her hubby visited us here in California while on their 15th anniversary trip. While Irish and I have yet to make it to the land of the billowing wheat fields for a return engagement, I still hope to someday. She, admittedly, has been much better at communication than I. Now that we're both blogging, I feel like I can "reach out and touch" my friend any time. I love visiting her little Net nook and reading the parts of her revealed there.

So Patty, for all the times I thought of writing you but didn't (yet we still stayed friends, thanks to your persistence) here's a sincere prayer for the warmest and most blessed of Thanksgiving Days for you and all your tribe. I'll think of you when I don't undercook the turkey this time. Thanks for being there and loving your WCW* anyway.


*West Coast Wacko, in case anyone else is reading this.

Only when I shouldn't

The life and times of an insomniac: I can sleep anytime I ought not; particularly during an important meeting, at the supermarket, at church, or 1 p.m. almost every day. Along about 9 p.m. I get a second wind that's more like a nor'easter. I could easily sit up till 4 in the morning or so and blog, write emails and letters to the editor, leave pithy comments on message boards, or play StumbleUpon. Unfortunately, there's the nagging fact that most life takes place during the time when Big Yellow lights up the sky. Being the building manager, I have to be up and available. So I must take the little girl within by the scruff o' the neck and drag her off to bed, just when she wants to have fun. But no, Sharon, you can't start a movie at 10:42; and you can't have another cookie; and you can't start another art project. Stop. Put down the crayons, turn off the computer, and off to bed with you. Now!

Why it matters

Election '08 is over; I can go outside and breathe the clean campaign-free air once again...at least until the inauguration. I had my reasons for not supporting Barack Obama, but am obligated to pray sincerely for him as our new president. (Who knows, maybe if I'd prayed more for George W. Bush he may not have blown it so badly--or at least my attitude would have been better about it.) And I do pray for him. He will need all the prayer he can get.

I said the air is clear. That's not really true, as the opponents of Prop. 8 won't accept that we the majority of California voters want to preserve the traditional institution and definition of marriage. They're behaving like thug-brats who will stomp their feet--in our faces, mind you--until they get their way. Regardless of one's opinion concerning homosexuals and their rights, our constitutional democracy should be respected. If you lose, as the Republicans did in the national, you shouldn't get to whine for a sympathetic judge who'll overturn the results. I imagine that's what will happen here. Our governor mole-in-chief encourages that very thing. (As my friend says, "They voted for The Terminator; what they got was Arnold Schwarzenegger".)

Aside from my Irish, whose presence and love have been my earthly salvation for 36 years, I have two glorious bright spots in my life: Christian, almost 2; and Jeremy, 7 mos. It sounds self-absorbed, but they are the main reasons I still care what happens to this country. I can't resolve the war in Iraq or fix the cruddy public education system or the national health care crisis or smite corrupt politicians and unfair "journalists" (oh, if I only could!) but I can swing a giggling little guy up to touch the chandelier; or let him touch a drool-covered finger to a bright board book page; or rock and soothe him till Mommy (our daughter) comes back. And I can teach him "Jesus loves me, this I know".

Lest I forget: Camila. She's our young friend from church who comes over on Thursdays and goes to AWANA with me. I get her a lot during vacations and school breaks, too. She's so much a part of our family that it's hard to remember sometimes that she has a mom and lives somewhere else. She knows where everything in our house is and goes right for what she wants--the privilege of the beloved.

Here's to the boys; and here's to sweet Camila. Sorry we didn't leave this world in better shape than when we found it. We haven't given up, though.